Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Alwyn
This time, Alwyn was brought to the same tent where he had first met Zesh.
It was empty, save for a guard pacing the narrow, canvas hallway; the druid followed him, gesturing for him to go further in.
They entered the room on the right side of the tent, which had several chairs along a table with a surprisingly robust spread of food, considering they were on the verge of winter in the remote wilderness.
A brazier in the center of the space kept the room warm.
“Sit,” Yarug said, gesturing broadly at the different chairs. “Eat if you’d like.”
Alwyn looked at him with obvious suspicion, but the old man only settled himself down in the most plush chair and sipped from a mug of mulled wine.
Alwyn’s stomach growled. All he’d had in the past few days was porridge, dried meat, hard bread, and the occasional slice of dry cheese.
There were actual fruits and vegetables on this table—meat and cheese and bread, too, but all much fresher-looking than what he’d been given.
His wrists were still bound, but Alwyn managed to peel an orange and eat the segments slowly, keeping a cautious eye on the druid.
But the orc seemed to pay him no mind, only staring pensively down at his wine.
“Why did you bring me here?” Alwyn finally asked, and the druid’s cloudy yellow eyes darted back up to look at him.
“To wait for the warlord,” he answered simply.
Alwyn stifled a sigh as he leaned back in his chair.
He could be here for hours, then, so he might as well get as comfortable as he could.
He picked at a cluster of grapes, popping them into his mouth one by one, and drank his fill of cool water from a clay pitcher, which was lightly flavored with orange peel.
The warm spices of the mulled wine smelled tempting, especially considering the chill in the air, but he needed to keep his wits about him.
Eventually, he heard some commotion coming from the other side of the hall; and a moment later, Zesh emerged, followed by two silent guards. He barely glanced at Alwyn as he stepped through the room and poured himself a cup of wine.
“Colder every morning,” he sighed, sitting opposite Alwyn, though he was glancing over at Yarug as he spoke. “When do you think we’ll see snowfall?”
“Less than a week now,” the old man intoned.
“Feels like it,” Zesh muttered, then his golden eyes swung back over to Alwyn. “Filled your belly, then?”
“Yes, thank you,” Alwyn replied stiffly, sitting up straighter. His stomach was in too many knots to eat much, but the fresh fruit had been too tempting to ignore.
“I have some questions for you,” Zesh continued, his voice eerily casual as he sipped his wine. “Don’t try to lie to me. Yarug will know.”
“I won’t,” he said. He glanced back at the druid behind Zesh, whose eyes were now fixed on Alwyn. He wondered how true it was—he didn’t feel any magic coming from the druid, but he tried to keep his own magic as suppressed as possible without being distracted. “Ask me anything.”
“How many elves are in Drol Kuggradh now?” Zesh asked. He was setting slices of cured meats and cheeses on a plate with his one hand as he spoke, as if they were discussing something utterly mundane.
Alwyn considered for a moment. “I only stopped in Drol Kuggradh briefly, so I’m not sure. But from what I saw between the remaining military presence and the civilians, I’d guess somewhere around two hundred.”
Zesh took a bite of a sausage, chewing and swallowing, before speaking again. “Yarug spotted two spies approaching the last camp I was at—an elf and an orc. Do you know who they were?”
Alwyn blinked. An elf and an orc? Tessarion only told him what he needed to know for his own missions, but the thought of another elf and orc pair being assigned to watch Zesh was a surprise.
“I don’t know. But there are factions of the library trained as spies, and I would assume there are similar groups of orcs working together. ”
“Is that what you are?” Zesh asked, glancing up at him. “A spy?”
Alwyn’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t a spy, so to tell him so was not a lie. His training had always been how to kill efficiently—anything else was only in service of that. “No. My training has been in combat.”
Zesh scoffed. “Forgive me, but you don’t look like much of a warrior.”
“I use magic to fight,” Alwyn retorted, and this time Zesh chuckled, raising an eyebrow.
“Is that so? Show me, then,” he said.
Alwyn froze. This was a trap. He hesitated, then said in a softer tone, “If I did that, your druid and your guards would kill me.”
A wicked gleam flashed in Zesh’s eye as he smirked down at Alwyn. That, too, had been a test—Zesh was playing with him now. “Smart. What else did you do in the Library?”
“Studying, mostly. All elves trained in the Library are educated in language, history, and mathematics. The training in magic is secondary until near adulthood. Then students are split based on their aptitude for certain types of magic. They might become researchers, or might be trained in combat, as I was.”
None of this was exactly classified information, and Alwyn wondered how much of it was still a test. Was Zesh just judging what he would say about his personal history before asking after what he really wanted out of him?
The warlord asked him a few more questions about the Library and Aefraya, but eventually fell silent, looking down pensively as he continued to eat.
Alwyn watched him uncertainly, his eyes darting between the warlord and the druid.
“It sounds like you know little that would be of use to me,” Zesh finally said, and Alwyn’s heart sank. If Zesh really believed that, he didn’t want to think about what might happen. “How were you hoping you could help me when you came here?”
Alwyn forced his breathing to slow, ignoring the nervous pace of his heartbeat. “I have learned powerful magic in my time at the Library,” he said. “I can share that with you.”
“Not many orcs have magic, so your offer might have been nearly useless,” Zesh chuckled, leaning back to regard him. “You’re lucky. With Yarug around, you might actually have some value.”
Alwyn managed a nervous smile. “Sounds like that worked out in my favor, then.”
Zesh had a small, mirthless smirk on his face as he stood.
“I’ll arrange for you and Yarug to meet privately tomorrow, and you can share your magic with him.
” Alwyn nodded, though the prospect of being alone with the druid sent a spike of anxiety racing through his chest all over again. “I’m done with you for now.”
He snapped once as he said it, and instantly one of the guards stepped toward Alwyn, pulling him to his feet.
“All right, all right,” Alwyn muttered, stumbling as the orc pushed him forward. “I can walk on my own, you know.”
There was no response, of course, though he thought he heard Zesh chuckling mirthlessly behind him as he was hauled out of the tent and back out into the cold morning air.
Krujha slipped into his tent that night, carrying a small cotton sack in one hand. Alwyn opened it to find a bar of soap, a hairbrush, some clean rags, and his book.
“Thank you,” he said, low and embarrassed, shoving the bundle under his pillow and trying not to think of what Krujha must have thought of the silly adventure novel amidst his other things.
Krujha’s expression was soft as they sat down, him in the single chair and Alwyn perched on the edge of the mattress.
“You’re welcome,” Krujha replied. They spoke in whispers, but Alwyn could still feel the low rumble of his voice, like faraway thunder. “Any news from your end?”
“I’m more curious what you and Zesh talked about after I left,” Alwyn said, and Krujha shrugged.
“He asked about what duties I’ve been assigned, and if I have any other useful skills,” he said, then grinned. “I really played up my ability to peel potatoes, so I don’t think I’m at risk of being reassigned any time soon.”
“Good,” Alwyn sighed, leaning back on the bed. “As for me—the druid kept me waiting until Zesh came back, and he asked me questions about Aefraya and the elves in Drol Kuggradh.”
“What did you tell him?” Krujha asked, frowning. Alwyn shrugged.
“I didn’t know much about what he wanted, so I told him the truth,” he said. “Then he asked more about me, and what I could give that would help him, so I offered to teach the druid some of the magic I know.”
Krujha’s frown deepened. “Is that wise?”
“With any luck, he won’t have the chance to spread the knowledge to anyone else,” Alwyn replied. But the orc seemed unconvinced, his expression remaining troubled. “Besides, I’m not seeing any other orcs with magic in the camp.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Krujha sighed, relenting. “Just... be careful in what you share with him, Alwyn. If he truly does control that raven like they say, then any message he sends could spread much further than you ever intended.”
Alwyn was silent. Krujha’s concern was understandable, but Alwyn didn’t share it. If everything went as planned, neither Zesh nor Yarug would live long enough to spread whatever information Alwyn gave them in any meaningful way.
The problem was that he couldn’t say as much to Krujha.
This would all be so much easier if he could tell him the truth, especially as it seemed more and more likely that Alwyn would have to kill both Zesh and the druid to have any hope of making it out alive.
Doing that alone felt more and more impossible the more he learned about the camp.
He wanted to be able to tell Krujha everything. The thought caught him off-guard. Krujha had somehow wedged through all his defenses, first becoming his friend, and now… whatever it was they were to each other.
When all this was done, he didn’t want to leave Krujha behind, and he didn’t want to have to do this alone.